Suffering is Relative

I've been sympathetic with Jack about all the travails of his constant travel. Believe me, just one trip put my entire physical system into a state of hold for months, if you know what I mean. Apparently, I'm not built for world adventure, at least not in this life. Yet, Jack never seems to ask me about my miseries, career wise. "Career" what a lofty word. I don't know if I've ever been able to use that word seriously concerning myself.

The poor guy has decided to drive this Monday (with a coworker) to a military base in Indiana rather than deal with the Atlanta airport on Martin Luther King Day. (I think initial caps are okay for that esteemed day. Should it be in all caps, also in bold, in giant type? Is it ever enough?! I just don't know!)

While he was packing, I asked, "Tell me the truth would you rather drive to Indiana tomorrow or write an article about a contemporary furniture store in Peoria, Illinois?"

He thought for a second and said, "I think I'll pick driving to Indiana."

"So would I," I answered. "Can we trade? I'm beggin' ya!"